


Bats and Butterflies

by MorganOfTheFey



Series: OTP: Bats and Butterflies [6]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Asexual Character, Autistic Character, Dom/sub, Excessive Finger Guns, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Genderfluid Character, I'll tag the sex stuff as I get to it, Mental Health Issues, Pining, Slow Burn, Trans Character, sort of mutual pinning but Deacon is the repression king and refuses to acknowledge his feelings, sub!Deacon, that's Anna, that's Deacon y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8287453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganOfTheFey/pseuds/MorganOfTheFey
Summary: Anna and Deacon return to Sanctuary to build up the Minutemen, collect more companions, and learn the true meaning of friendship. Seriously, in between completing personal quests for Anna's companions and recruiting Curie, Strong, and a very grumpy and autistic Danse, Anna and Deacon actually start to work through their issues and start a fake-but-not-really relationship. Give it a few chapters and Deacon will also finally get his needy sub ass topped real nice. It's all fluff and smut until Anna gets a lead on Kellog and starts unraveling what really happened to Shaun ...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All right, angst ahead for this prologue, but the chapters after this will be much better. trigger warnings for child abuse, but the majority of it is referenced, not shown on screen

Bethany Anne sits in the basement and prays very hard for forgiveness. She doesn't mean to be bad. She didn't even know she was bad. But her father hasn't let her out for three days now, so she must be very bad.

She tried not to eat the food Mama brought her. There's no way to tell time down here, but Mama spoke very very quietly when she came down. Opening the door slowly so the hinges wouldn't squeak. Footsteps as light as she could make them. So Beth thinks Mama snuck down here at night. That maybe Mama wasn't supposed to bring he food.

Beth prays to God to forgive her for eating the food.

There's bleach in the corner. The other corner that she hasn't ... used. That corner smells bad. Mama helps her clean it up each night, but it still makes Beth feel ashamed.

But she's bad, so maybe she's supposed to feel ashamed.

Their pastor hasn't been able to cure her yet. Her back still aches from her father's belt. Yesterday--she thinks it was yesterday--they held her head down underwater. She didn't know if she was supposed to try to hold her breath or not. It didn't matter. They kept her down long enough that she'd inhaled a lot of water. Then puked it back up again on Pastor Matthew's feet.

Maybe that's why God didn't heal her. She was bad and her body was unwilling. She knows Mama is worried. If she's not healed tonight ...

There's bleach in the corner. Beth found a sponge over there too. Maybe Mama will be proud of her tonight for using it to clean up her mess on her own this time. Maybe she'll finally be Good again. She hasn't opened her eyes for two days now, except when Pastor Matthews tells her to.

Both times, she still saw the colors. Red and brown oozing from her father like mud that's been bled on. Her mother's dim yellow, so faded it's almost white. Pastor Matthew sparking with orange and yellow like a bonfire.

She didn't know all this would happen when she asked Mama why her colors didn't match. All her brothers have red or brown colors. Except James. He had yellow but he didn't believe hard enough that God could heal him and he died from a fever last year.

Beth's color is purple. No one else in the whole commune has a purple color hanging around them. Her color must be different because she's bad. She'd erase it if she could. Scrub it off like cleaning her piss off the floor. Make herself clean and good.

Bethany Anne prays very very hard to be forgiven. She knows God can send an angel to touch her eyes and purge the demons from her. But if Pastor Matthew can't heal her tonight ...

There's bleach in the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna returns to Sanctuary and shows off her new friends, and Deacon gets the shovel talk from Codsworth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no trigger warnings for anything this time! Deacon, Hancock, MacCready, and Cait just get introduced to Preston + settlers, and everything goes better than expected!

The sniper spotted Anna first. Hard not to focus on her when she stood so much taller than the other four around her. But as quickly as the sniper had locked onto her, Anna had seen them even sooner. Glint of moonlight on glass. The scope. She notes the location with approval. The gate in front of Sanctuary doesn’t extend to walls around the whole settlement, but that’s where she would have put the sniper.

“General?"

The disbelieving word carries across the still night air. Anna raises one hand in acknowledgment. Half wave, half salute.

“The General’s back!"

Jun’s voice and his yellow-flickering aura. Dogmeat gives a tired snuffle in recognition. They didn’t have any sniper rifles when she left and she doubts he knows how to shoot one anyway. But it’s good that they found a scope and Preston stationed someone on lookout.

“Are they going to throw you a parade?” Deacon stage-whispers to Anna. “Remember, you are mortal."

“Memento mori,” Anna murmurs back.

Hancock groans beside her. “Please don’t speak second languages when I’m high and tired."

“Sounded like some fuckin’ Brotherhood shite,” Cait grumbles.

MacCready is practically swaying on his feet. “Shut up, everyone just shut the shit up."

“Do you mean shut the shoot up?” Deacon asks. “Personally, I’ve always liked shut the fuck up, or maybe the occasional what in the goddamn, but it’s nice that you’re mixing it up. Couture. I respect that."

MacCready moves toward Deacon like he might take a swing. Or start a half-hearted slap fight. Anna easily holds him back with one hand to his chest. She pushed her group hard to reach Sanctuary so soon after the last possible Shaun sighting turned out to be a bust. Maybe pushed too hard.

“Need to be carried?” she asks him.

MacCready looks up at her, opens his mouth, then pauses. His aura keeps jumping toward her like he wants to be carried. He’s definitely complained about walking enough. But his eyes slide over to the other three companions grinning at him. He steps back and tugs the brim of his cap down so he can hide his face.

“M’good,” he mutters. “We’re here, ain’t we?"

The gate opens almost in response to his question. Preston reaches the entrance first, but Codsworth hovers right behind him.

“Oh mum!” Codsworth cries before Preston can get a word in. “You’re back! And is this … did you bring company?"

His voice box does an excellent job of mimicking breathy excitement. Anna can see her companion’s auras squirming out of the corner of her eye. Probably should have warned them about the semi-sentient robot butler. She notes that for anyone else she recruits. Preston is kept occupied anyway by Dogmeat immediately zeroing in on his pockets for treats.

“Friends,” she says, both to Codsworth and Preston.

“Oh, you’ve never had friends before!” Codsworth butts in again. “And you made so many! Should I take their hats? Coat?"

MacCready scrambles back clutching his cap and Hancock tightens his grip a bit on the lapels of his beloved coat. Cait looks ready to deck anyone who gets within three feet of her. Deacon is the only companion who stays calm, but Anna supposes he knows about Codsworth already from that time he spied on her.

If anything, he looks like he couldn’t possibly be enjoying this night any more. Only Dogmeat is happier. Anna sees Preston slip her spoiled puppy some sort of treat in between petting him.

“No, Cods,” Anna tells him firmly. “Put Dog to bed. Make coffee. Поржалуста."

“Yes, right away, Mum. C’mon, boy."

Dogmeat nuzzles against Preston one more time, then trots off after Codsworth. She did carry her puppy for a few miles but he’s still ready for bed. Anna nudges Deacon in the semi-awkward silence left behind. He understands what she wants even without her saying or signing anything to him. That's been nice.

“Hey, I’m Deacon,” he says, stepping forward to offer his hand. “You must be Preston. Anna said she left you in charge."

Preston shakes his hand firmly, glancing to Anna for confirmation for a split-second before smiling. “That’s right. Preston Garvey of the Commonwealth Minutemen. I didn’t realize our General was out there recruiting, but we’re happy to take all the people we can get."

“Well, this is Cait and MacCready, and you’ve probably heard of Hancock,” Deacon says.

Preston blinks. “Mayor John Han—"

“I wanna know what the fuck that was,” Cait interrupts. “The … Mr. Handy, but nice."

“Is mine,” Anna says.

Her companions look at her, waiting for a further explanation. She stays silent.

“Uh, don’t worry,” Preston jumps in. “Codsworth is really great. He hasn’t been reprogrammed or anything, so mostly he just hovers around trying to clean things. Helpful if you can give him a specific task though."

“So that’s … your Mr. Handy,” Hancock says slowly. “From before the war? Or just one you found?"

Anna nods. “Pre-war. He waited here. Is good boy."

“Huh.” Hancock stares after the robot for a second, then refocuses on Preston. “And yeah, Mayor John Hancock at your service. Wanted to get back out into the real world for a while, see if I can help out with anything."

Preston nods, but his aura stays held back. Even Anna can tell he’s not convinced.

“Well. As long as that’s true, we’re happy to have you,” he finally says.

Hancock doesn’t take offense, just tips his hat in acknowledgment. Anna figures that’s enough of introductions for now.

“What needs to be done?” she asks.

“Oh. Well, uh.” Preston scratches the back of his neck. “It’s dark now, and there’s nothing that can’t wait until morning. Everyone here is about ready for bed, so none of us would blame you if you headed off too. No one’s been in your house, so it should be fine."

“Now he’s talking sense,” MacCready says.

“But if you really want to burn the midnight oil,” Preston continues. “Something’s wrong with the water purifier. Still giving clean water, only a lot less of it. Sturges can’t figure out the Vault tech you used to scrap it together, and one of our generators keeps cutting in and out. We’ve been working so hard trying to get the crops done and some fortifications put up that we just haven’t had time to mess with either of them."

Anna nods again. “Take MacCready to empty house. Clear out junk. Get bedrolls set up."

MacCready sighs, but he straightens up and prepares to go do work.

“Can keep junk you find,” Anna tells him.

He rolls his eyes. “Not everyone has a hard on for desk fans, boss."

“Have hard on for your own room?” Anna asks. “Hell, enough houses. Can have one. Whole house. Electricity. Running water. But yes. You have to clean place first. Boo hoo."

MacCready crosses his arms. “What’s the rent?"

Anna closes her eyes and takes a slow inhale. It would be so nice if--just once--people would listen to what she says. No questioning. No arguments. She understands they're suspicious of the word "free" but she doesn't have the mental energy to explain why capitalism is bullshit right now. Deacon steps in again.

“That can be negotiated in the morning,” he says. “And it is negotiable, Mr. Two-Fifty."

“No,” Anna says. “Not negotiable. He picks house. Is his. Done. No rent."

Fuck capitalism. She's in charge now. Anything she says in this little neighborhood is law. And all of her people are going to have food, water, and shelter. Just because she says so. Because that's the world she wants Shaun to grow up in. Because she's a good mother, goddammit.

“You just handing out free houses then?” Cait asks, aura prickled up in suspicion.

“I need people,” Anna replies.

Cait’s aura draws up even tighter. “For what?"

“To … people.” Anna grinds her teeth and tries again when all that gets her is blank looks. “Cannot bring Shaun back to empty cave in woods. Need people to do … people things … at him. Socialize."

“Shit, and you chose _us_?” Hancock asks.

Anna shrugs. “Nate was chem addict. Shaun will be predisposed. Would rather he use openly and safely than try to hide. Have guilt. Fuck up entire life."

Hancock and Cait keep staring at her in silence. This is why she doesn't talk to people. Ideas progress from A to B in her mind. Then she says it out loud and no one understands how she got to B. Like there's a whole secret alphabet in between that she's never been taught.

And they act like she's the slow, stupid one when they can't even move from A to fucking B.

MacCready breaks her out of her thoughts. “So why’do I get a house?”

“Good sniper is always useful,” Anna says. “Any life situation. Sniper. Good call."

Deacon raises an eyebrow at her over his sunglasses. “What about a date?"

“Sure.” Anna grins sharply. “Will take you out."

“Ohh,” he laughs. “That does sound like my kind of date."

Anna turns to MacCready. “Name gun Destiny."

He huffs. “My gun is a lady, not a stripper."

“Strippers are ladies,” Anna immediately corrects.

Cait slaps his arm. “Ain’t you a stripper? Down at the Third—"

“Screw off!"

Preston loudly clears his throat. “General! I believe you were giving orders?"

“Да. MacCready, house,” Anna repeats. “Cait, with me. Deacon, take Hancock. Introduce him. Tell me if you have problems. Jun."

She glances up to where the other settler has been quietly sitting at his perch. Revises her opinion. Might make a good sniper after all. If he finds it in him to pull the trigger.

"Stay."

"Um, yes ma'am."

Jun's hand kind of flutters in the air for a moment before settling on giving her a salute. Anna hasn't made any plans to require her settlers to address her as ma'am or do all that saluting shit, but she won't discourage them either. Hell of a change from the first time she moved into Sanctuary Hills.

"Nicey-nice introductions coming right up, boss,” Deacon says, then turns to Hancock with a grin. “I’d offer you my arm, but I’m clearly the lady in this relationship."

“Lucky for you, I’m a gentleman,” Hancock drawls, offering Deacon his arm.

Deacon places one hand on his chest. “Oh my, you are!"

Anna acts like she ignores his banter. Can’t smile at everything he does. She looks at Cait and jerks her head to follow instead. Cait’s aura still bristles a bit, but it’s settled down some. Anna knows it will take a while for her to start trusting. Like looking at her own twenty-year-old self. Maybe she can save Cait some stupid decisions.

In the meantime, she needs someone to wade into cold water in the middle of the night and hold a heavy metal panel in place. Nice to have an extra set of strong arms around.

*******

Deacon knocks on the door frame of the workshop even though the small regular door is open because he would really prefer not to get shot tonight. The big metal sliding garage door has been pulled all the way down, but he can still see the settlers sitting around in the workshop through the cracked open regular door Anna installed right beside it. They look wary, but less haggard. Mama Murphey is the only one who doesn’t seem surprised to see a new face, but something about her prickles the back of his neck anyway, so he’s not surprised at her lack of surprise.

“Hey. Or maybe I should say howdy?” He grins kind of self-consciously at the muscular man in overalls who came to the door like he doesn’t already know this is Sturges and he’s a big sweetie pie. “The General brought us up, already introduced us to Preston. He’s showing the others around. Has a real nice hat."

“How many of y’all are there?” Sturges asks slowly.

His eyes scan the darkness behind Deacon, and he goes still for a second when he spots Hancock. But the hand resting on the gun at his hip doesn’t twitch, so Deacon guesses he’s just rightly wary of strangers, not actively prejudiced against ghouls.

Deacon moves his hand slowly when he presses it to his chest and then points to Hancock. “Well, I’m Deacon, and this is Hancock. General Anna only brought up two others, Cait and MacCready. Preston’s showing them where we can all stay the night so we don’t step on anyone’s toes or bedrolls. And she wanted me to come over and let you all know there’s new people so—"

“Yeah, and where’s Anna now?” Marcy interrupts.

“Uh, fixing up the water purifier. And you are?” Deacon asks in his best I-don’t-know-who-you-are-and-totally-have-been-spying-on-you-at- _all_ voice.

Marcy just glares at him. She does have her gun drawn, but it’s a piece of shit pipe pistol. Easy to duck out of the doorway if she starts firing, and then the pistol’s more likely to explode in her hand than actually hit him from a distance, at night.

“This here’s Marcy.” Sturges says with a gesture toward her. “I’m Sturges and that’s Mama Murphy."

“That John Hancock out there?” Mama Murphy asks.

Hancock steps into the light spilling from the open door very slowly, but he breaks into a grin when he sees her. “Well damn, Murphy. You’re just about as pruned up as me."

She laughs, the rasping smoker’s cackle almost as ugly as Anna’s laugh. “Least I still have both my nipples. Might be taking a swing at my kneecaps, but I got ‘em."

Hancock lifts a hand to his chest in mock offense. “That hurt me.” He pats where a nipple presumably would be. “Right here."

“Did Anna bring you assholes up here to actually help out with anything?” Marcy demands.

Deacon keeps up his friendly smile. “Sure did! MacCready’s working on cleaning out a house tonight, and Cait is helping General Anna fix the purifier right now. Hancock and I are happy to help out with whatever you need."

“Well, we were just about to bunk down for the night,” Sturges drawls. “But it’d be mighty fine to have some help in the morning with the crops. Maybe help get a turret up and running?"

“ _And_ ,” Marcy interrupts. “We need new beds."

Sturges scratches the back of his neck. "Ah, it's fine. We got mattresses."

“Lumpy, moldy ones,” Marcy says. “Better than sleeping on the floor, but the mold in ‘em is bringing Mama Murphey’s cough back. She needs a decent place to sleep."

Deacon nods along, mentally revising his opinion of her. Either Marcy is a very talented manipulator using Mama Murphey as an excuse to get better sleeping arrangements for herself or her tough demeanor is just a defensive shell around a person who actually cares.

“I know Tracy down at Drumlin Diner,” Deacon says. “It’s not too far from here, so I’ll ask the General in the morning if she doesn’t mind me heading down there to see if we can get some trade set up."

Sturges nods. “That’d be real nice. Appreciate it. Y’all need help finding your way around? I think I know which house Preston probably took your other man to."

Deacon steps back from the door and gestures ahead of him. “Lead the way."

*******

Deacon drops Hancock off at the house Preston and MacCready are currently clearing out, then makes his excuses to go find Anna. On the walk back down the main street, he drops his eager-to-please drifter persona too and thinks over how the introductions went. A bit awkward, but no slurs said or shots fired. His voice maybe got a little too customer service there with Marcy, but he'd rather be a little too sugar-sweet with the person holding a gun than risk pissing them off with his usual sarcastic quips.

At least, he amends, if he has a friend with him. Deacon knows damn well he has no self-control with the quips if it's only his life on the line.

"Oh, Mr. Deacon." Codsworth hovers down Anna's driveway to join him. "Are you lost? Do you need assistance?"

Well it looks like good ole Coddie still has his customer service programming intact. Deacon wonders if his restriction against harming humans is still intact too. He still has no idea if his own distaste for violence is a real, personal preference or just ... leftover programming.

But he doesn't have that sort of existential crisis penciled into his schedule until 3 am and he likes to stay on track with his mental breakdowns.

"I'm all right," Deacon says. "Just headed down to see if Anna needs anything else."

"Yes, very good," Codsworth replies. "I'm doing the same myself."

Deacon nods and takes out a cigarette so he doesn't have to look at the robot. He's already well aware of the parallels between himself and a possibly-sentient Mr. Handy. Gives him a sense of goddamn vertigo looking at what basically amounts to an outdated version of himself. Minus the skin and mental illness.

Maybe that makes Codsworth the improved version.

"That all for Anna?" Deacon asks, just to hear something other than his own thoughts.

Codsworth carries two coffee mugs and a wrench in one ... appendage, a bundle of sweatshirts in the second, and the whole goddamn pot of coffee in the third. Deacon takes a long drag off his cigarette. He is not jealous that someone else is doing something helpful for Anna. He's only here because Desdemona wants someone keeping an eye on the new faction, and he's never at HQ anyway. Plus, they might be able to cycle a few packages through Sanctuary if it gets big enough to have a steady flow of trade and settlers.

"Yes, I thought Mum and her friend might appreciate some warm clothes," Codsworth says. "My temperature readings indicate that it's quite chilly out tonight, and that chainmail shirt might deflect knives, but it won't do anything against the common cold. Is she injured?"

Deacon takes another drag to give himself a moment to process the sudden question. "Anna is ... all right. Some lingering bruises. Might need to watch her ribs for a week or two. Is it typical of her to refuse medical treatment?"

"Mum does work herself so hard," Codsworth says without answering the question. "And she has a tendency to take care of everyone else before herself. It's good to know she has friends now, who might ... remind her to think of herself."

He didn't deflect the question particularly tactfully, but it seems like he either has some sort of discretion protocol still operating or enough awareness to recognize Anna may not want him to discuss that topic. Most of the Mr. Handies Deacon has seen have either been reprogrammed to function similarly to Mr. Gutsies or their functions have atrophied into them fruitlessly attempting to clean an object over and over again. Usually whatever it is they're trying to clean has already rotted away. But this one just went to the effort of choosing his words carefully.

Interesting.

"Are you Anna's friend?" Deacon asks.

"Mum says I am a member of her family," Codsworth answers. It sounds rehearsed, as much as Deacon can read the tone of an artificially produced voice. "Are you?"

Deacon barks out a laugh at having his own question turned around. "Her friend or part of her family?"

Codsworth pauses in the middle of the street. "Do you consider her to be your friend?"

Deacon stops too, still grinning. "Are you giving me the shovel talk right now? 'Cause I hate to break it to you, buddy, but if I hurt Anna, you're going to have to get in line to hurt me back right behind Anna's right gun and her left." He touches each of his biceps in turn, a poor comparison to Anna's own muscles. "Guess you will need the shovel to scrape me off the pavement though."

"That certainly may be true." Codsworth eye stalks make a bit too direct eye contact with Deacon. "But her feelings will still be hurt regardless of the consequences you suffer. Mum takes very good care of those close to her and she cares for them very much. But she's not the best at social situations, and sometimes the people she cares for are not appreciative of her efforts. As I understand it, so far she's provided everyone here with shelter, electricity, and clean drinking water. It would be nice if you all understood that as well."

Deacon keeps smoking his cigarette. He didn't expect to have a shovel-talk-slash-heart-to-heart with a Mr. Handy on an empty street in an eerily preserved pre-war suburb, but here he is. Somehow his life decisions always seem to stick him in strange situations like this.

"Anna ... "

Has not asked Dez for his recall code. At least, Desdemona didn't mention anything about it when he made radio contact with her to OK his stay at Sanctuary. Anna hasn't attempted to use the fake one he gave to Dez either, so it looks like they're both trustworthy for now.

If he was the type of person to have friends, Anna would be a good one.

"Is a good person," Deacon says. "And I think she's going to be a good leader here too. I respect her, and I really do appreciate what she's doing for all of us. At the very least, you can be sure that I'm not going to bite the hand that feeds me."

"Well, Mum needs a friend," Codsworth says, sounding like he'd turn up his nose at that answer if he had one. "Those are very important for humans. Better get moving before the coffee gets cold."

Deacon figures if Codsworth were a human, the butler would have shoulder checked him as he swept by. Good to know he wasn't the first synth to develop sassiness.

Well, actually, Nick was proof of that.

Regardless, Deacon follows Codsworth down to the river. That fuck off big water purifier Anna built is still chugging along, albeit much more noisily. Cait squats on top of the machine, holding a panel up and out of the way while Anna leans into the purifier's innards to tinker with something.

"Mum!" Codsworth calls. "I brought the coffee. And Mr. Deacon has come down to see you as well."

Anna turns around, and Deacon suddenly needs another drag off his cigarette very badly. She's pushed the sleeves of her vault suit up to her elbows, the fabric clinging tightly to her arm muscles. There's grease on her hands and smeared up her forearms, even a spot smudged across her chin. Deacon is such a goddamn sucker for that mechanic look. If she starts handling that wrench Codsworth brought, he's going to be glad he doesn't have anything down there to pitch a tent in his jeans.

The next time he looks back at her, she's finishing off one whole mug of coffee, then holds it back out again for Codsworth to pour her a second serving. No wonder he just brought the whole pot.

"Cait, coffee," Anna calls back.

Cait doesn't look half bad herself, but she's still smaller than Anna. Shorter too. Probably malnutrition. Only people still around as tall as Anna are the handful of sentient ghouls that grew up eating well. Animal populations produce smaller offspring when resources become scarce, and all that fun evolutionary jazz.

Anna's eyes flick over to Deacon. He takes one more comforting inhale of smoke and blows it out downwind. She hasn't said anything against him smoking, but she always makes sure to be upwind of him when he does and puts more distance between them for a while after. He guesses it's the smell that bothers her.

But then he starts thinking about how she keeps her distance for a bit, which implies that she stays close as long as he's not smoking. And that's ridiculous because Anna hates to be touched and she keeps her distance from everyone, except wait no, she's put her arm around his should and let him check her for injuries, and he let her touch his face to check on his injuries and--

Shit, _are_ they friends?

"Didn't have any problems with the others meeting Hancock," Deacon says. "Marcy wasn't the happiest camper about new people coming in, but she didn't punch or shoot anyone, so I call that an outstanding success, possibly a minor miracle."

Anna nods. "Will count on tally for sainthood."

God-fucking-dammit, Deacon laughs. It's hard to keep up defenses against humor as dry and sarcastic as that. Cait finally finishes sniffing the cup of coffee suspiciously and takes a sip, then nearly chokes on it.

"Fuck kinda coffee is this," she sputters.

Anna takes another long drink. "The good kind."

"Turkish, actually," Codsworth cheerfully informs them. "A luxury import, but Sir Nathanial was a decorated war hero, you know, and was allowed such luxuries."

Anna silently raises the mug back up to her lips. Her face seems blank, but Deacon can read the bitterness in the slight narrowing of her eyes. Sorrow at having her late husband mentioned would make more sense, but he'd bet his last Fancy Lad that's bitterness in her eyes. Maybe the quiet suburb life wasn't so quaint and idyllic after all.

"Marcy also mentioned the scavenged mattresses they pulled from the houses are pretty old and moldy," Deacon says to fill the silence. "I told her I know the woman who runs Drumlin Diner not far from here, and I'd ask you about getting a trade line established."

Anna nods. "Да. Discuss in morning before you leave."

"Sure thing, boss."

"Cods, pull out sofa bed," Anna says. "Deacon will sleep in living room."

Her house is the best preserved on the block. Peeling paint and some trim coming off, but from his week of keeping tabs on her, he's seen that all the doors work, the windows are still intact, and the walls seem sound. Easily the best house in Sanctuary. And getting his own sofa-bed in there on order of the General herself? That some definite favoritism.

Does Anna actually consider him a friend?

Or is she just keeping him close like he's doing with her for the Railroad?

Is that even really why he's here or does he actually just like her?

"I appreciate it," Deacon says. "But just so you know, I'm a sleep-talker, and I only monologue ancient Greek tragedies."

"Oedipus is overrated," Anna replies without missing a beat. "Try for Agamemnon."

"Isn't that the one where there's the reverse Psycho scene and she stabs him to death in the bathtub, then bathes in the shower of his spurting blood like rain?" Deacon asks.

Anna's mouth widens in an approximation of a human smile. "Classic."

"Well make sure Marcy doesn't eavesdrop. Wouldn't want to give her ideas."

"The fuck are you two talking about and are you sure this is coffee I wanna go punch-fuck a mountain," Cait says all in one go.

"Mum's coffee is quite strong," Codsworth remarks. "I think there are still a few blankets in the linen closet that are still intact, if you wish to go to bed now, Mr. Deacon."

"That sounds lovely." Deacon glances over at Cait, who's staring intently at the river.

"I can see every water droplet," she says. "I'm gonna count them."

Anna has a look of mild concern, like she's rethinking her decision to share her special coffee with a woman addicted to Psycho. Most coffee beans were vacuum sealed in bags and have lasted pretty well, but it's the generic crap that was mass produced on levels high enough to still be around today. People probably haven't had worthwhile coffee for a generation or two by now.

"Good luck with that," Deacon solemnly replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so first of all, thank you to everyone who already commented! I'm glad to be back, and this fic will update weekly as per usual, but on Mondays now instead of Saturdays, since Monday ended up being my day off at work, surprisingly enough.
> 
> secondly, this fic is going to be as long as Machine Mother, and it'll cover everything Anna and Deacon do in Sanctuary / recruiting companions up to tracking down Kellog. when I said slow burn, I goddamn meant it, but the good news is that this part of the series is the fluffy part where Deacon and Anna actually kick off their relationship! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna and the group get settled in Sanctuary, and she lays down the law that everyone gets free food because capitalism can suck her clit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so some squicky stuff in the beginning of this chapter is that Deacon has a lot of paranoid thoughts, so be careful if that sort of thing bothers you. otherwise, no trigger warnings

Deacon wakes up laying lengthwise on the couch with his back shoved up against the cushions, which seems rude. Codsworth went to all that trouble to pull out the sofa-bed, and then he kicked all the sheets off and slept on it lengthwise.

He assumes he slept at least. You have to sleep to wake up, right? But all Deacon remembers from last night is that his brain helpfully rescheduled his existential crisis to start at 10 and kept going to 4 am, interspersed with commercial breaks brought to him by “paranoia” and “suicidal urges."

Deacon blindly reaches for his sunglasses and shoves them back onto his face before he even uncurls from the fetal position he slept in. Anna has electricity in her house and the oven clock blinks 6:23 at him. He spots Codsworth powered down in the kitchen and isn’t that just fucking creepy-tastic. Where’s Dogmeat? He could use some puppy love.

There’s nothing on the shelves in the living room. The TV and stand lay haphazardly on the floor. Cabinets empty of food in the kitchen too. Some intact chinaware though and a few bags of coffee grounds sitting next to the coffee pot from last night. Codsworth doesn’t stir as he snoops through Anna’s house. He finds Dogmeat asleep at the end of the hallway. His buddy cracks an eye open, thumps his tail once on the floor, and then goes back to sleep.

No one answers when he knocks softly on the door he guesses leads to the bedroom. He starts to leave it alone, but when has he ever done that? He racks the door open a tad, mentally rehearsing justifications about Anna still being hurt or having one of her own mental episodes.

But the bedroom is empty. The sheets have mildewed and been moth-eaten right off the bed, just little tatters of fabric left on the mattress. The whole room is covered in dust, but there’s some clean spots where things were picked up and moved. Two dust-free squares on the nightstand—books? Kleenex box? alarm clock?—and no clothes in the dresser.

Everything has been stripped bare, and it’s starting to freak him the fuck out. His paranoia starts playing a fun, fun game of “what if” and bats around super cool ideas like, “what if you imagined the whole thing and there aren’t any people here at all?” and “what if the Institute came through here and stripped everything down and drug the humans away while you slept?"

Deacon automatically takes out a cigarette, but he stops before he lights it. Might as well check the rooms across the hall before he smokes in Anna’s house and pisses her off and gets kicked out and no one at the Railroad likes him anyway so what if they don’t let him back in and just--

Dogmeat yawns and thumps his tail again without opening his eyes when Deacon stoops down to pet him. Dogs are good and simple. They don’t lie or betray people. He gets why Anna loves this one so much, and he whispers to Dogmeat what a good boy he is.

He opens the next door without knocking and that turns out to be a Mistake.

It’s a nursery. Faded blue paint that’s almost white now. Shelves that actually have stuff on them—building blocks and toy cars and a teddy bear peeking out of a wooden crib. The broken bed frame for a twin sized bed has been unceremoniously shoved into a corner, but the mattress lays right next to the crib.

Anna sits cross-legged on it with her back against the wall. Her lips move silently as she reads from a yellowed children’s book that looks like it’ll fall apart in her big hands at any second.

There are still tear tracks down her cheeks. The left side shines brightly, the dawn sunlight catching against the wetness over the white scar beneath her eye.

Deacon quietly closes the door.

*******

Anna starts her day with three cups of coffee and a long cry. Refreshing. Her biggest goal for Sanctuary at the moment is to get hot water running. Then she can have a shower and a cry, the perfect combination.

“Mum, Mr. Deacon is back and Mr. Garvey is here too,” Codsworth calls from the door.

Anna waves them in without looking up from the plans she’s sketched for a second water purifier. Further upstream, closer to the spring’s source. If she has time, she’d love to find it and drill a well, maybe build a dam or a water tower.

“Good morning, General."

She can see Preston respectfully standing out of her peripheral vision. Deacon grabs a seat at the table, spins it around, and straddles it to sit down.

“I can paint ‘number one general’ on that for you,” he says. “I’m kind of a secret Mozart with a brush."

“Was musician."

Deacon fakes ignorance. “Really? Are you sure he wasn’t an artist? His name is Moz-art, not Moz-symphony. That’s false advertising."

Anna presses her lips together. Tries to scowl. Gives up and smiles. She manages to wipe it off her face in another moment though.

“Do you have any orders for today?” Preston asks.

Just like when she came back from Thickett Excavations. He hands authority back over to her without any problems or apparently even considering he could claim the title of general for himself. Anna doesn’t want to let her guard down, but Preston Garvey has shown nothing but goodness to her and the other settlers.

“Fixed purifier and generator,” Anna says.

Preston blinks back at her. “Really? That’s great! But uh, did you sleep last night?"

Anna silently drinks from her third-pot-of-coffee-cup.

“You got something for us newbies to do?” Deacon asks next. “Hancock, Cait, and MacCready are all the prickly-pride sort, not big fans of taking charity."

Anna looks over at him. “You are not?"

“I have never once been proud of myself in my entire life,” Deacon says very seriously.

Anna nods. “Didn’t know you were Christian."

Preston laughs first at that, sudden and a bit too loudly. He blushes when they both look at him.

“Yeah, my family …” he trails off and clears his throat. “My Momma didn’t raise us quite so bad with that ‘pride is a sin’ stuff, but that—that was funny. Were—are you?"

“Am sinner in all denominations,” Anna replies. “So irrelevant."

Preston’s aura shifts forward, reaching out to her like he’s about to say something comforting about Jesus loving everybody. Anna is fine with starting her days with a quick mental breakdown, but it is too goddamn early for _that_. Have to draw the line somewhere.

“Cait, Sturges, and I will build hot water heater,” she says first. “Have Hancock and MacCready work on making turret. If can’t, put them on crops. Deacon."

He sits up straight. “Yeah, boss?"

“In charge of trade,” Anna says. “Also, giving settlers what they want."

“What they want?” Deacon repeats slowly.

Anna makes a low disgruntled hum. Point A to point B. How to make him understand.

“Can give food, water, shelter,” she tries to explain. “But what … else do people want? Books? Music? Porn? Can keep alive, да, but keep happy?"

She makes a face and a short, sharp gesture with her hand. Who the fuck knows.

Deacon nods. “Eight hours of leisure, right? Yeah, I can handle that. Right now they just want comfier beds, probably better food next. Snack cakes go a long way, lemme tell ya."

That sounds like he actually understands. Anna can provide the first two layers of Maslow’s pyramid no problem. Basic survival shit like food and water, and then one layer up for safety. All that’ll take is a few defensive walls, some turrets, and some better guns than those shitty little pipe pistols. But the top three layers of the pyramid? All that “sense of belonging” and “esteem” and “self actualization” shit?

Anna has never seen any of those cryptids before in her entire life.

Codsworth drifts back over. "Mum, should I get either of them some coffee? Or dare I say, make a spot of breakfast?"

She ignores the dry sarcasm in his artificial voice. He just wants to make sure she's eating. Anna finishes off the last of the coffee in her mug instead. Growing up in poverty gave her the habit of buying food and necessities in bulk and hoarding them down in the basement. A habit Nate hated. Now a blessing. She still has boxes of protein shake and power bars. She'll take inventory of what's still good this evening. Maybe give some food to Preston to distribute?

No. He'll believe the best in everyone here and try to just give it all away. Everyone's played nice in her little sandbox so far, but people kill for stupid luxuries all the time. Deacon might know better who can be--

"Anna?" Preston holds out a mutfruit to her that he took out of his jacket. He speaks gently. "Just a little bit of breakfast? I know what it's like when--"

"No."

Anna sets down the coffee cup so she doesn't break it in her hand. Nothing he knows compares to losing her son. Even if he lost his child, he would have been a father. It would have been a woman--a wife, mother, sister--who cared for the child while he ignored it and did what he wanted. Like all fathers.

"How about ..." Deacon easily snatches up the mutfruit from Preston's unsuspecting hand. "We see who can eat the most little globs before this thing explodes?"

He manages to carefully peel off one of the juicy pods with his teeth without ripping the skin and getting juice everywhere.

"What do you call these, huh?" he asks. "Pods? Juice globes? Your turn."

Now Deacon offers her the fruit. Anna knows damn well it's just a game to get her to eat. Technically a manipulation tactic. She begrudgingly respects how well he's playing it though.

"C'mon." Deacon grins at her, tipping his face down to shoot her a blue-eyed look over the rim of his sunglasses. "It's like Russian roulette without the win-win scenario."

Anna doesn't even bother trying to hold back her sharp bark of laughter at that. "Well, if Russian."

Deacon grins even wider. “Да."

Anna takes the fruit and bites right into it. Juice runs down her chin, and she lifts a thumb to swipe it off and suck the juice into her mouth. Deacon's aura swirls faster and drifts toward her. She thinks that's his tell for being aroused. But he doesn't make any smartass comment about that. No innuendo. No come on. Just wrinkles his nose in a way that nudges his sunglasses back up over his eyes.

"Was that flirting or a metaphor for suicide?" Preston asks.

Anna takes another bite and swallows. "Was Russian."

Deacon laughs.

*******

The raiders threatening Tracy never even saw him coming. They were so focused on flushing her out, he got the drop on them without a stealth boy. Tracy and her son made it out fine, agreed to trade with Sanctuary, not a scratch on him from putting bullets in those raiders' backs.

So technically a success, but Deacon isn't exactly celebrating. Murder is never his preferred solution, and seeing Tracy's kid all strung out didn't bring back any happy memories of his own twenties.

By the time Deacon gets back to Sanctuary, he's daydreaming wistfully about a hot bath.

"Ah, Mr. Deacon," Codsworth greets him. "Mum just sent me out to round everyone up for supper. Please take your shoes off and set them in the garage before you go inside."

"What're we having?" he asks.

"Radstag meat, tatoes, and corn." One of Codsworth's eye stalks suddenly swivels around. "Ms. Cait! Hold on a moment."

Deacon heads for Anna's house as Codsworth attempts to herd Cait in the same direction. As funny a scene as he's sure that makes--and he really should go over to play peacemaker--his sleepless night is starting to catch up with him. Kicking off his boots, sitting down, and having a hot supper sounds like a goddamn blessing.

Hancock and Preston are already inside when Deacon gets there, and Hancock's telling a slightly horrified Preston how he fell asleep during a radstorm and a molerat gnawed off his pinky toe. Deacon knows that actually happened back when John McDonough was still human and passing out in traphouses, and it was a friendly bald drifter who'd woken up and kicked the molerat off of the poor unconscious kid.

Still makes him wince behind his sunglasses to see and smell the exposed ghoul feet.

"Gotta get you some socks, buddy," he says, taking his own seat at the table. "And some Sploosh. Goddamn, we're supposed to be eating soon."

"What's Sploosh?" Preston asks.

"What women do when they see me in my coat," Hancock answers with a grin. He tugs on his lapels and winks. "Sploosh."

Deacon snorts. "I have it on good authority that men can sploosh too."

"Thirty seconds in," Preston mutters.

Deacon and Hancock share a look, then both grin and lean forward.

"Sturges not know how to handle his power tool?" Hancock asks.

Preston blushes. "What? No. He--we haven't even ... I mean, did he say something about wanting to ...?"

"Stop teasing Preston," Anna announces as she comes in.

Deacon settles back in his seat. "We would never."

"Just making sure he's being treated right, is all," Hancock says with the same faux-innocence.

"Sturges has been a good friend," Preston says firmly.

Anna leans against the back of the couch and gives them both a stern look anyway. Cait and MacCready trudge in next, both shoeless and acting like they're walking dick first into a bear trap. MacCready chooses the chair closest to the side door back out to the garage, while Cait throws herself down into the chair at the head of the table.

"That's Anna's seat," Preston says.

"Don't see her name on it," Cait replies.

Deacon steps in too. "Did you see it on her mailbox out front? 'Cause I'm pretty sure this whole house is hers."

Cait looks over to Anna. She's just rebelling to see how far she can push shit, but Anna doesn't give her a reaction.

"Don't care," she says.

Cait stays silent and slumped in the chair long enough that Deacon almost thinks not reacting came off as a sign of weakness, but then Cait sighs and switches seats. The truest authority never stems from people who have to scream and hit people to get what they want. Real leaders just have something inherent about them.

Codsworth finally drifts in with Dogmeat following him, and the moment moves on. "Oh good, you're all here! Mum, Sturges said he'd prefer to keep working on repairs to the Jonses's house."

Anna nods. "Take him a plate. Help out. We're good here."

"You're sure I shouldn't stay and prepare plates for your guests?" Codsworth asks as he bustles about the kitchen.

"Мы в порядке."

Preston and Hancock just look curious about what Anna said, while MacCready looks suspicious and Cait outright pulls a face. Deacon glances over at Anna, and she nods.

"She said we're all fine," he translates.

"And you'll send the dog over to fetch me if you need anything, right Mum?" Codsworth asks.

Anna places a hand on him. "Yes."

"All right, then," Codsworth says. "Have a good evening everyone. I'll come back and clean up before I power down, Mum."

"Пока."

The rest of the group says goodbye to Codsworth too, and then it's just the table they're all sitting at and Anna staring at them. Feels more like an interrogation than a dinner, and Deacon's just about to spit out one of the pre-planned jokes he has made up for diffusing awkward situations like that when Anna speaks.

"Everyone gets own plate," she says.

She heads to the countertop where the food is laid out first, grabs a plate out of a drawer, and starts loading it up with food. Despite clearly being the most suspicious of the offer of free dinner, Cait and MacCready are both out of their seats in the next second to get in line. Cait tries to muscle her way in first but MacCready is small and quick.

Anna turns around and they stop. "No fighting."

There's still a bit of pushing and grumbling after that, but Preston and Hancock join the line too and everyone gets food. Anna glances over at Deacon, and he shakes himself out of people-watching them. The food smells good, probably with most of the rads cooked out. He has a half-playful fight with Hancock over the last gritty razorgrain roll, but he looks up and loses the battle when Anna walks out of the kitchen to take a seat in the recliner in the living room.

"What, I gave up my seat and you ain't even sitting with us?" Cait demands.

"Don't have to sit at table," Anna says. "Not Sunday brunch."

MacCready shrugs and follows her into the living room to sit on the couch. By the time Deacon gets his plate, Hancock and Preston are on either side of him and Cait has claimed the other sitting chair. Anna looks up and frowns when she sees him awkwardly hovering.

"Get seat," she says.

Deacon looks back at the kitchen table. It's right there, but it seems like a million billion steps away. He says "Nah" with a tired grin and flops down on the floor next to her recliner. Dogmeat immediately stops giving puppy dog eyes at Preston to cuddle up with him and try to sniff his plate instead.

"Oh, now you're my best friend again, huh?" Deacon raises a knee and holds his plate out of the dog's reach. "You didn't want to go down to Drumlin Diner this morning."

"Luff me beh," Hancock says around a mouthful of food.

"I think he loves Anna best," Deacon says. "Or maybe this radstag."

Hancock finishes chewing and swallowed. "Hey, we had a real special morning together. Dug up a lot of weeds. Bonded. Didn't we, boy?"

Dogmeat knows he's being talked about and barks. Anna snaps and points at the floor, and he lays down at Deacon's side like a good boy. Still giving woeful puppy dog eyes though. Deacon slips him a small piece of the grilled radstag.

"Yeah, probably best you didn't come with me, buddy," he says. "It was no fun. No fun at all."

Satisfied now that he's been given a treat, Dogmeat rolls over on his side, wriggles against the carpet to get comfortable, and falls asleep. Knuckles graze against the back of Deacon's head, almost like Anna is poking him. He barely holds back a flinch. The next soft brush isn't so bad though, almost soothing. He cranes his head back to look up at her.

"Hurt?" she asks.

"Nah, I'm good." He smiles up at her. "Don't worry."

She stares at him for another moment, evaluating, but then she nods and goes back to eating. Deacon does the same, and no one talks for several minutes. He's surprised when Anna is the first one to break the companionable silence.

"Initiation," she says. "Training under Boris. Took all recruits, beat us, made us chug bottle of whiskey. Then eat bucket of cockroaches and live rat."

Everyone pauses in finishing up their meal. It's definitely not the most disgusting thing any of them have heard. Who hasn't eaten radroaches before? But all they'd ever heard about is how much better life had been in pre-war times.

Anna smiles fondly at the memory. "Like less traumatic childhood."

"That was less traumatic than your childhood?" Hancock asks.

"Да," Anna replies. "Father locked me in basement. Ate cockroaches. Rats. Thought about eating fingers. Decided to make one right decision in life and die like good Christian."

"All right, sorry Duncan ahead of time," MacCready says. "But what the fuck?"

"Yeah, wasn't the old world supposed to be all rainbows and shite?" Cait asks.

Anna nudges Deacon, but he's not sure how much he can explain for her on this one.

"Uh, I know there were a lot of food shortages," he says. "Really strict rations. Some pretty bad riots happened. So it wasn't all shits and snickers."

Preston frowns. "What about the police?"

Anna barks out a sharp laugh. "Police put down riots. Kept starving poor people out of nice suburbs. Shot tear gas and water canons at crowds in bread lines." She scoffs and repeats the word in a sneer. "Police."

Hancock sets down his plate and leans back in the couch. "What's your point then, general?"

"Men could do that because men were in charge," Anna says. "Of everything. But now ... _I_ am in charge."

The air in the room changes. Deacon can see each of them tense up and start wondering what she's going to do now that she's in charge. Even he's starting to calculate where the exits are in the room in case shit turns nasty.

"I say .... everyone gets food, water, shelter," Anna declares. "For breathing. Existing. Because said so."

There's a beat of silence.

"Am not bringing child into that world," she says. "Was rich enough before that--maybe ... could have been all right." She's starting to fumble her words now. "Now will be better."

She takes a breath like she might continue, then stops and abruptly stands up. Takes her plate into the kitchen, sweeping past everyone else in the living room without a second glance. No one really knows what to say. Anna puts her plate into the sink and goes down the hallway instead of returning to her chair. The bathroom door closes. Then there's the sound of running water as she starts a shower.

And they're all left in the living room to figure out what the hell that just was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right, so I actually have a scene where the companions talk among themselves while Anna showers, but it got waaaay too long for this one chapter, and I want to move on to actually doing stuff next chapter. so it was cut. check out my roleplay blog on tumblr annahoward.tumblr.com if you want to read that :)

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is super short, so I'll post the next chapter two days from now on Monday! stay tuned!


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